


Five Reds and a Baby

by a_taller_tale



Series: Five Reds and a Baby [4]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Kid Fic, M/M, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-08-16 15:14:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8107129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_taller_tale/pseuds/a_taller_tale
Summary: Red Team's baby is missing. It was no doubt the work of those nefarious-no-good-Dirty Blues. Babynappers, the lot of them!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [agentmoonshoes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentmoonshoes/gifts).



> This story continues from the rest of the [series](http://archiveofourown.org/series/493243), starting chronologically with [this one](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7268884/chapters/16504531), so you might want to read how they accidentally acquired the baby first. 
> 
> Or you could just jump right in. I won't judge.

It was the perfect day to bake in the sun in the middle of a canyon. 

It had been just a few days since Sarge’s order from a dubiously evil clone-making organization had come in. And it turned out they didn’t make adult clones. They gave you a baby clone to raise instead. And it turned out it was Grif’s clone instead of Sarge’s, because Grif had the shittiest luck out of every person in the universe and his hair had somehow gotten in the kit. And the team had unanimously declared that since the kid had his DNA, it was his responsibility. Which was a load of bullshit. Plenty of people didn’t follow that rule out in the real world.

The brat had been fed and changed three times today. All by Simmons. It was ridiculously easy to get him to do it. Simmons seemed to be under some weird impression that he shouldn’t pick the kid up without permission even though it was super obvious he wanted to and thought everything Grif did with the kid was wrong. So Grif just had to make a big show of not knowing how to do stuff until Simmons’ bubbling frustration overruled his anxiety and he took the wheel—uh, the baby. 

Little D—goddammit that name was sticking—was completely dead-weight in Grif’s arms, sleeping the incomparable sleep of the milk-drunk. They had at least a couple of hours of quality tandem nap time before Simmons had to feed him again. There were a ridiculous amount of spreadsheets and schedules and checklists. But hey, if it meant Grif didn’t have to do that stuff, he would resist the urge to call out how anal Simmons was being about this. Kid was fine. He’d gained weight. He kept smiling at Sarge for some weird fucking reason. But other than that he seemed healthy. Simmons assured Grif he was hitting every developmental milestone. Like Grif would worry about nerdy new-age parenting shit like that. 

Truthfully, tandem nap time was the first time Grif had to be completely alone with the kid in a while. It was just way better when the kid was sleeping. Made it easier to avoid the existential dread that came with having a kid to potentially accidentally murder by trying to feed it Cheetos too early. 

Also, bad fathers run in families. Not that he remembered his dad much. But his mom's boyfriends all sucked and his mom hadn’t done that great either, so his parental instincts were probably completely fucked. Kai was… Kai. He couldn’t take credit for how good she turned out. 

It really just sucked that Sarge had it in his head to set up an offensive against the Blues today. Grif called babysitting duty without even thinking about it. Which was actual work with no back up if the kid didn’t stay sleeping. He was losing his touch. 

Grif found a shady spot near the trees in a neutral area to the side in case Sarge and Donut started firing and throwing grenades for fun. Even if Simmons joined in, because he was a sheep, he was more agitated than Grif about this kid business. No way would he hit anything, even accidentally. 

Grif stretched out in the grass, careful not to jostle the kid too much, setting him up against his chest. The baby squeaked and stretched. Grif absently pat him on the back until he settled in quickly and was breathing evenly again. Sleeping like a champ, like a true Grif. 

It was really hard not to think too much about his son curled up on his chest and how this baby was his and how he had to raise it by himself and not run off with the lion tamer at the circus— 

_Ka-click. Bzzzz!_ “Heeeey Grif! What’s Little D up to today?” 

“We’re having a bonding moment, get out of here Donut.” He was never getting a nap if Donut kept taking pictures with that Polaroid so he could make as much noise as possible and shake it while singing the _Hey Ya_ song. “Aren’t you supposed to be scouting or something?” 

"Yeah! Oh man, those Blues are gonna get it from Private Donut today. We’re gonna sneak up on them and pound them into submission!” 

Grif was unimpressed. “Yeah, I was in that meeting.” Sarge building a giant mallet to pound the Blues Smash Bros. style was probably a waste of resources or something, but as long as he wasn’t making Frankenstein monsters, cyborgs, or another Lopez, it was a win for everyone. "You know, I forgot you didn't get a promotion like the rest of us." 

“Yeah, it's not that big a deal though. The enemy will call me _Captain_ tonight!” Donut’s teeth gleamed like a toothpaste commercial as he shook the Polaroid so it would develop faster, and so he could shake his ass. 

This not wearing helmets thing was weird. “Donut, go get your helmet if you’re gonna fight the Blues. Caboose might forget you’re not on his team and shoot at you.” 

“Oh yeah!” He made to get it while Grif closed his eyes, concentrating on the sun-warmed grass against his back. “Hey Grif, you’re not in armor either. You sure that’s safe out here?” 

“Ehhh, we haven’t had any weird accidents in a while. It’ll be fine.” This spot _was_ pretty protected and, despite the crazy shit they got into occasionally, Chorus wasn’t at war anymore. 

What could happen in a jungle canyon filled with former enemies in color-coded teams that liked to have stand-offs with live ammo for banana bread and all suffered from varying degrees of PTSD and mental instability? 

Donut wandered off and Grif was lulled to sleep by the warm breeze and the rhythmic breathing of the kid curled up on his chest. 

When Grif woke up two hours later, the baby was gone. 


	2. Chapter 2

With Grif still outside with Dexter, Simmons finally had time to finish the laundry. He had to wash the baby’s things in a separate load from Sarge’s boxers. Actually Sarge’s underwear had to be separate from everything else or they would turn everything Donut’s color _every time._ If Simmons didn’t know any better, he would think Sarge re-dyed all his clothes every week.

So like everything else, laundry day was a surprising amount of work and no one else did it correctly. It was all up to Simmons to save Red Team from turning everything pink.

“At least you don’t wear clothes. No one appreciates me around here, Lopez.”

“[Didn’t you already have an arc about this?]” Lopez’s disembodied head was a captive audience, since he had been caught in an unfortunate explosion during this morning’s skirmish. Sometimes you just needed someone around who had no choice but to listen to you talk.

“Yeah, that’s true. At least Dexter likes me—the baby, not the useless pile of shit that doesn’t do any work around here.”

Speaking of, it was almost time to feed him—the baby. They were trying solids now. The books all said to do vegetables first instead of fruit because once kids had sweet stuff they wouldn’t eat their vegetables, but Simmons was gonna go a little crazy and do sweet potatoes today. No surprise, Grif’s clone was a good eater.

"Later Lopez." He grabbed the color-coded binder from on top of the washing machine and walked down the hall to the kitchen. Grif still didn’t know the system, and didn't realize the orange highlighted sections were for BMs. Idiot.

Dexter already seemed bigger than he was before. They’d have to start planning for his future soon.

Like, where was he going to go to college? A lot of the oldest universities were still on earth, but there were a few good military schools on colony planets… -No. The earth universities were pretty selective though. Flashcards. He should have made flashcards for him already. They had already wasted _days._ There were babies Dexter’s age already prepping for pre-K! They were so behind!

But they were on Chorus. Families that were left were starting to come back to the city now, but there weren’t any schools set up yet. What if Grif wanted to go home with the baby? Raise him where he grew up?

Grif never mentioned a plan, he kind of left it all up to Simmons. Which was its own problem, he thought as he stirred up the baby food with formula. Grif didn’t even seem to like picking Dexter up. Simmons should be happy if they bonded and Grif woke up and realized raising a baby with his war buddies was ridiculous and stupid. It would probably be the best thing for Dexter.

Simmons sniffed and wiped his sleeve across his face just as Grif wandered into the kitchen. 

Wait- Was he actually on time for once? Was he getting to know the schedule??

Grif immediately went to one of the bottom cabinets, barefoot and scratching his scalp like he’d just woken up from a nap, digging around for the bag of barbecue chips he kept stashed behind the cleaning supplies. Simmons was the only other person who knew about that hiding spot because no one else around base bothered with the cleaning supplies. Assholes.

He didn’t have the baby with him though. If Grif put him down for a nap before feeding him it would mess everything up! “Where’s Dexter? Lunch is ready.” Simmons put it on the table, wiping crumbs from breakfast off.

They’d rigged a harness for the baby on one of the chairs out of Donut’s collection of scarves since Dexter wasn’t steady sitting up yet, and they weren’t sure where they’d get a highchair. Sarge had threatened to make one out of their spare robot kit, but it was still under construction. Luckily, and you’d never catch Simmons saying this again, Donut was good at tying sturdy knots.

“Funny, Simmons,” Grif said, ripping open the bag of chips and stuffing a bulging handful in his mouth. Animal.  

“What’s funny? Come on, we’re on a schedule. Go get him.” If they fell behind on the feeding schedule, bedtime would be late and _everything_ would have to be adjusted.

Grif gave him a look. “You took him to feed him while I was sleeping to teach me a lesson about napping on the job.”

_“…what.”_

Grif stopped mid-chew. “You didn’t take him?”

_“YOU WERE SLEEPING WHEN YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE WATCHING HIM??”_

“It’s not like he was going to get up and walk away.”

“Then _where is he, Grif_?”

Grif had stopped eating. Eyes darting around the room like Dexter might be in a random corner in the kitchen. “Relax, I’m sure he’s with Sarge or Donut.”

Donut burst in into the kitchen with a flourish. “Great news, team! Sarge sent me to say the Highchair 3000 V2.5 is done and ready for a test run! Where’s Little D?”

“Fuck,” Grif said.

"Goddammit Grif." Simmons' eye started blinking on and off as his cyborg parts overheated in his rage. “I knew I should have microchipped him.”


	3. Chapter 3

“You’re not going to microchip the kid, Simmons. What if he ever has to go on the run from the government?” Arguing with Simmons seemed to calm the nerd down slightly. His creepy eye-light blinking on and off had slowed down and his chest wasn’t making that weird whirring noise anymore. 

“Well right now he’s not on the run from the government, he’s _lost_ , so a way to track him would be really helpful. Besides, I’ve had you microchipped for years and we _were_ on the run from the government, and then shipwrecked, and your signal was still untraceable by anyone but me.” 

Okay, maybe it'd be good if they could just look the baby up on GPS instead of having to walk around looking for him. “I guess… Wait, you—?” 

“Oh, this is awful!” Donut interrupted. “He could be dead! He could be _on drugs!_ ” He clutched at his heart dramatically. “Or the Blues could have forced him to join their team. _Which is worse than death._ Look at Simmons!” 

Simmons took a break from ringing his hands to give Donut a dirty look. “Hey!” 

“Yeah, Donut. Simmons is a bad example. He joined the Blues on purpose. Twice.” 

“The second time was not voluntary and you _know it,_ Grif!” 

“Everyone should just shut up and not worry about this. Kai used to go missing all the time. She always showed up again sooner or later.” 

“Yeah?” Simmons asked, his voice still had that slightly hysterical edge that made Grif’s teeth ache. “Did Sister ever go missing in a war zone when she couldn’t even _crawl yet?_ ” 

Grif’s stomach flipped and he grabbed his abandoned chip bag to put some more food in his mouth and keep his hands busy. “First of all,” he said once his mouth was comfortably full, “we’re not at war. It’s just you assholes still wanting to shoot at the Blues every five minutes.” He rounded on Simmons. “Second, maybe _you_ should have remembered I can’t be trusted with important shit like carrying extra ammo, or remembering Sarge’s birthday, or being responsible for another human life. Did you really expect me to stay awake watching him? I didn’t even want to keep the kid in the first place.” 

Simmons had that wounded look on that meant he really wanted to scream in Grif’s face or punch a mirror or go to bed and cry. “Grif…” 

Grif braced himself. “What?” 

“Why are you looking for the baby in the dishwasher?” 

Grif blinked and then shut the dishwasher door. “Well, he wasn’t outside. I don’t see the rest of you assholes helping me look.” 

That got them moving. They checked inside both machines in the laundry room and Donut picked up Lopez’s head to assist in the search. Then they checked the bedrooms, Little D’s pod, in clothes drawers, under beds, and even the most recent hole in the far wall that they kept covered with a tarp to keep the rain out. Finally, the roof. 

No baby. 

Grif was out of breath by the time they finished going through the base. He’d really been hoping Little D might be on the roof. Don’t ask him how the kid might have gotten up there. He’d learned to stop questioning the weird shit that happened to him a long time ago. But, no luck. 

“I guess I could check the dryer again,” Donut said. 

“We have to check outside,” Simmons countered. “I haven’t seen any wild animals around here, but he could have been snatched by a coyote or something. It happens all the time in nature documentaries.” 

“Or he could have been snatched by one of the dudes who like to shoot at us from the other side of the canyon.” 

“You think the Blues took him, Grif?” 

Grif crumpled up his bag of chips and tossed it off the roof. Simmons’ eyes followed it, but he didn’t start bitching. “Kid wasn’t in the base, and no one else had him.” 

“[I have no idea why you spent that long checking the base if he went missing while you were _outside_ ],” Lopez said testily. "[Idiots.]" 

Suddenly there was bellowing from below. “Ladies, get down here on the double! And bring test subject #2!” 

All three of them, and Lopez’s disembodied head, looked at each other. 

“Who’s going to tell Sarge that Little D's missing?” Donut asked. 

Grif, Simmons, and Donut all put their fingers on their noses so fast that Lopez bounced out of Donut’s arms and off the base roof following the path of the discarded bag of chips. 


	4. Chapter 4

“Wut.” 

“Well, you see sir. I was doing everyone’s laundry and Grif…” Grif managed to tune Simmons’ explanation out, but he couldn’t tune out Sarge’s fury. 

“They stole our baby?! _THIS WAS THEIR PLAN ALL ALONG!_ First they have an alien and a freelancer and then two and three. But it was never good enough for them! They had to take our baby. The very future of the glorious Red Team. This is an act of war!”

Grif was not going to disagree with him there. 

“Lopez!" The old man's eyes narrowed. _"Get me my whiteboard.”_

Lopez said nothing from where he’d been dropped until all of them slowly realized Lopez was still just a head until his body was repaired and he couldn’t exactly carry a whiteboard. Donut decisively lost the nose game this time. He hoisted Lopez into his arms to assist him in the task. “We’re on it, sir!”

Sarge turned to the rest of the team. “This is easily resolved, Simmons. Use that tracking doo-hickey. I know you got one on Grif. You musta got one on the mini-version.” 

“Oh, not you too,” Grif groaned. 

Simmons looked askance guiltily. “I- I never got the chance to install one, Sir.” 

“What? What do I even pay you for?! You’re demoted! Lopez is promoted to Private First Class!” 

[“Is anyone going to fix my body?”] Lopez deadpanned as they came back, looking very unimpressed for an expressionless bodiless helmet. Donut went about setting up the whiteboard on a tripod.

“No, you can’t!” Simmons protested. “I need the extra money for my s— for Dexter!” 

This pulled Grif out of his sullen silence. “You get paid the same as the rest of us and you have worse benefits.”

“That’s not true! …Is it?” 

“You don’t even get overtime, Simmons. Dude, how long do you think the UNSC is going to keep paying us if we stay here? Are we even still working for them at this point? We're _captains_ in the Chorus army.”

Sarge grumbled louder to pull their attention back to him as he scribbled some Blues with Xs for eyes on the white board. There was also a bulbous blob on top of the pile of dead Blues that also appeared to have Xs for eyes. 

“Is that supposed to be Little D?” Donut asked.

“No, that’s Grif! The plan is to have him run in unarmed, and while the Blues are distracted we shoot them all. Meanwhile, Highchair 3000 V2.5 has a retrieval unit for just such an occasion.” 

Donut had been nodding furiously, but paused. “You mean you were prepared in case the Blues came and kidnapped him?” 

“I was prepared for Grif, in his usual incompetence, to accidentally drop his abominable offspring down a hole while he was looking for snack-cakes. Should still work for this with a few tweaks.”

Abominable offspring. Such bullshit. Sarge had already demanded the baby do his paperwork on three separate occasions just so he could hold him. Sarge melted if the kid so much as cooed at him. Grif had even caught him smiling back at the baby when he thought no one was looking. 

Sarge and Donut went to work fixing Lopez, and Grif wasn’t sure what he was doing. He would catch a load of shit if he tried to take a nap before the attack, and he felt too jittery to try and sleep anyway. At least Simmons looked similarly helpless. 

“Oh!” Simmons suddenly said, and then took off into the base. Grif followed. Nothing better to do.

When Grif got into the kitchen Simmons already had the formula out, tensely adding one more scoop than usual. Grif didn’t say anything, watching as he added three extra ounces of water and started shaking it like if he shook it hard enough the baby would fall out. 

“I’m making extra,” Simmons said, answering the question Grif didn’t ask. “This feeding’s going to be late. He’ll probably be hungry.” 

Yeah, that was really the only time Little D got cranky. That and when one of them left him before he was all the way asleep and he thought he was being left alone. Grif came back the first time it happened and the brat reached his chubby little fingers out for him, huge teardrops stuck to the lashes of his big brown eyes.

Grif picked him right back up again because he was a sucker. That was how their tandem napping got started. Simmons found them sleeping in Grif's bunk, and muttered something about it not being very safe and him ruining the ferberization, but he didn't say anything about it again when it started becoming a habit. 

Anyway, now the only time Little D cried was when he was hungry, and he could howl the base down. He probably was crying by now... 

“Whatever,” Grif said.

Simmons paused, giving him a considering look. “The Blues wouldn’t hurt a baby,” he said, not at all reassuringly. “Right?” 

Grif shrugged. “They have Caboose on their team. And they’re all kind of disasters. I really don’t want my kid leaving the planet and going on some kind of quest for Church. They haven’t done one of those in a while. They’re probably overdue.” 

Simmons shook the formula faster. 

“You’re going to put too many bubbles in it.” Grif stopped him, taking the bottle away. “You ready to storm Blue Base?” 

The team was assembled, even Lopez, when they got outside again.

“We’ll get him back from those dastardly dirty Blue baby-nappers.” Sarge said in a particularly chilly way, cocking his shotgun.

They loaded up the Warthog to drive across crash site Bravo to get to the other side of the canyon. Lopez, newly reassembled, hopped on the back of the Highchair 3000 V2.5 and they all rode into battle.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting close to the end. 
> 
> This story is dedicated to @agent-moonshoes. She requested this fic six months ago and some of the dialogue is lifted from our brainstorming session with her permission.

Grif pulled the warthog behind one of the old pieces of ship for cover. Even though the crash site had mostly been cleaned up when the new Red and Blue “bases” were constructed, Donut had insisted on leaving random pieces of metal around because it looked like modern sculpture and gave the site a more cultured and modern feel to it. The rest of them hadn’t given much of a fuck, so they’d gone with it. 

They heard Caboose first. “Oh my gosh, it’s so cute! Do you think it likes swimming?” 

“I don’t think this little guy’s old enough for swimming yet, Caboose,” Agent Washington said. 

When they heard the unmistakable burble of Little D in response, Grif and Simmons were the first to poke their heads out of cover. 

Agent Washington was holding Little D, who seemed relatively comfortable in Wash’s arms if the way he was gumming determinedly at Wash’s gloves was any indication. 

Simmons whimpered, no doubt already going through the scenarios of what horrific crap was already on the gloves that the baby was now ingesting. Dirt? Blood? Who knew with Freelancers. Wash was a weird dude. 

However, the Blue who hated babies was the one Grif was more worried about being near his kid right now. 

Caboose kept babbling. “Last time there was a baby I was promised orange juice and cookies, but then Doc _NEVER GAVE ME ANY COOKIES_.” 

“Tucker have you raised Armonia yet?" Washington called into the newly built Blue Base. "We need to report in on this... situation.” Blue Base looked around the same size as Red Base, even had a similar design, even though Red Base _should_ have been bigger since they had more guys. And a kid now. Some bullshit attempt to keep things _fair_. Even though the Blues claimed Reds and Blues were the same. Sure. 

“Oh I know,” Caboose said with a gasp, bouncing back and forth on his heels. “SKYDIVING! We can take the baby skydiving! But Doc can’t come unless he brings the cookies.” 

The Reds paused to look at each other in mutual horror. 

“CHARGE!” Sarge called. They scrambled back to the Warthog and Sarge turned up the radio when Grif hit the gas. 

Grif wished the Blues had something satisfying in their yard he could run over like Simmons’ vegetable garden at Red Base, but they had to settle for a lone training dummy. 

"Oh no," Wash sighed as they pulled up. "Guys, we're having a situation right now, so I'd appreciate if you-" 

Sarge jumped out of the vehicle first, landing boots first in the dirt and cocking his shotgun. “Drop the baby, and no one has to get Sarged.” 

When the baby heard Sarge’s voice he stopped gumming Wash's gloves to break into a big toothless grin. Weirdest fucking kid. 

Simmons immediately slipped out of his aggressive stance. “Well um, don’t _actually_ drop the baby.” 

“Yeah,” Grif added. “I’d kind of appreciate it if you just set him down somewhere. He was just fine on the ground earlier.” He could feel Simmons trying to melt Grif's face with his eyes. 

“ _Drop the baby?_ Don’t you know how soft their heads are?!” Wash was hitting dog whistle pitch. “And no he wasn’t fine on the ground, Grif. I found him rolling around by himself!” 

“Found who rolling what self?” Caboose interrupted. “Are we rolling things? I am really bad at packing sleeping bags.” 

Simmons stopped glaring at Grif. “Wait, you saw him roll? He never rolls when we’re looking! Was it back to front or front to back?” 

Washington, who must have already learned the helmet trick and looked more in need of a Xanax than usual, looked from the baby back to the Reds. “This is _your baby_? Where did you get a baby?” 

Sarge stepped up. “Well, when a man is getting on in years and he needs an heir to his shotgun collection, he can call up an 800 number and—” 

Wash’s eyes were pained. “No, you know what? I don’t want to know the answer to that question. More importantly, _who let you get a baby?!_ ” 

Little D seemed unaffected by Washington’s jostling and hysterical screeching. Exposure to Simmons must have inoculated him. 

“All I got was a busy signal. Siri’s acting up again—" Tucker stopped short outside of the base seeing everyone gathered. “Hey, what are you guys doing here?” 

“You Dirty Blues stole our baby!” Sarge was getting restless. Hopefully they would just give them their kid so they could fucking go. 

“Huh. Looks kinda like Grif. –Hahah no way! That’s your kid?” Tucker looked from the baby back to Grif. “Dude, who’d you knock up?” 

“I didn’t knock anyone up, asshole. Sarge ordered him out of a shitty catalogue. Accidentally used my DNA for the cloning process,” Grif muttered. 

“You didn’t knock anybody up _and_ you didn’t have to deal with throwing up, back pain, or labor? Bullshit, doesn’t count.” 

“Uh… yeah it does,” Grif crossed his arms. “He’s got more of my DNA than yours has of you.” 

Everyone in the canyon froze. 

“Oooooohhhh,” Donut said. “Burn, dude. Shots fired.” 

“Not yet,” Sarge grunted. 

“You both shut up!” Simmons’ face was flushed with anger and anxiety. He’d probably get hives later. “Adoption is a valid way to become a parent even if you didn’t give birth or share genes!” 

Tucker broke the silence this time. “Whoa, wait. Did you adopt Grif’s kid?” 

“ _NO!_ ” Simmons shrieked. “I’m just saying that there’s more than one way to be a parent. We’re more of ‘it takes a village’ parenting-style on Red Team. I just wanted to point out you were both excluding—” 

Grif interrupted to address Washington, “Okay, so now you know the story. Give us our kid back. He needs a bottle.” 

Caboose put his finger up to his helmet in an approximation of the nose game. “I don’t want to feed the baby. I like my blood in my body.” 

Simmons chose to get offended on Little D’s behalf. “He doesn’t drink blood!” 

“Maybe occasionally the blood of his enemies,” Sarge amended. “Now hand him over, Blue.” 

“What are you all _talking about_?” Tucker said. “He should be on solid foods by now. No wonder your kid’s so small. My kid ate an entire cow when he was that age and look how fast he grew!” 

Wash closed his eyes. “Please don’t feed the baby raw meat.” 

“The last thing we need is to encourage a Grif to eat,” Sarge muttered. 

“Little D’s a little young for swallowing,” Donut interjected, standing next to Lopez, who rolled his helmet-head skyward since he couldn’t roll his eyes. 

Grif was really regretting waking up from his nap. Washington was holding Little D protectively, like the baby was safer with an ex-con than with his _own family_ and if Caboose started yelling about cookies again Grif was gonna lose it. 

“WHAT. _THE HELL._ IS GOING ON?” 

Grif, the rest of Red Team, and Wash, froze. 

Tucker lit up. “Oh, hey Carolina!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Check out this fanart of Grandpa Sarge!](http://mercuryblacksleg.tumblr.com/post/155775450024)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is dedicated to @agent-moonshoes. She requested this fic six months ago and some of the dialogue is lifted from our brainstorming session with her permission.

Grif, Simmons, Sarge, and Wash tensed as the smartest and most attuned to self-preservation in the group. Lopez didn’t react visibly, but he didn’t have to worry about his own mortality. Carolina’s style was more threats, than actual ball-punching, but you never knew. 

Agent Carolina stood in full armor and helmet, hands on her hips. “Is anyone going to enlighten me as to why there’s a baby here? And why no one was answering their radio?” 

“Don’t move,” Simmons hissed. “Her vision is based on movement.” 

Tucker shrugged. “I was trying to get through to Armonia about the baby, but Siri kept playing _Baby Got Back_ instead of calling. Maybe we should have someone look at it.” 

“Oh good, Carolina’s here!” Donut seemed excited. 

Carolina might have claimed she just came here periodically to check up on them and examine their defenses, which was bullshit because they were no longer at war, but Grif knew she was really here to check out what Donut had in his stash. He was a really talented smuggler and sometimes seemed to get things out of thin air. Carolina had a weakness for dark chocolate with salted caramel and red wine. 

“So, no one’s going to tell me about this baby.” She shook her head. “I… don’t really care.” 

“It’s _our baby,_ and your little Blue buddies over there stole it, because our baby is far superior to theirs!” Sarge shouted. 

Tucker immediately got back in his face. “Don’t talk about my kid like that. Junior’s an ambassador _and_ he’s the best in his basketball league! I bet your kid doesn’t get straight A’s.” 

“Well, I think we should give the baby to Caroline,” Caboose said in the same voice he used to accept the sarcastic promotion to leader of Blue Team. 

Carolina actually took two large steps away from Wash and the baby. “Or you could put it back wherever you found it? With its parents?” 

“I’m his parent,” Grif blurted out. “I guess,” he added so he looked less desperate and more cool. “I mean, we- Whatever.” 

“Grif cannot be the mommy and the daddy.” Caboose said, pacing like a professor in front of a lecture class. “Church and I read a book together. Babies need mommies and Carolina can be that mommy.” 

“Yeah, give the baby to Carolina!” Tucker laughed. “She’s the only one with the equipment to feed it! Bow chicka bow wow!” 

Everyone froze again. 

“Tucker, that’s not how that works,” Wash said sternly, before looking to Carolina. “Carolina, you know I know that’s not how that works, right?” 

Carolina looked about 0.3 seconds away from erupting and Donut and Lopez were already looking ready to retreat. Simmons looked unspeakably terrified. Sarge hadn’t moved. 

Sure, Grif would probably be a shitty dad. He wasn’t the type of guy have “very special moments” with kids like sitcom dads did on TV or just toss a ball around the yard, but they had Donut to teach the kid tossing— To _throw. …_

...He probably shouldn’t let him spend too much time around Donut when he was learning to talk. 

Lopez hated all of them, but he was pretty gentle the times Donut insisted he hold him. Maybe Little D could learn some Spanish from him and be able to translate when he was older. You just knew Lopez was talking shit all the time. Grif's sister had always been good with languages. 

Normally, Sarge would have ordered a retreat by now but his gaze was just as intent on the baby as all the others. Sarge was still an asshole, but he’d found a new diversion in building all these gadgets for Little D which kept him distracted from using Grif as target practice as often. And sure, they were pretty dangerous, but his kid was a Red and all of them would die before they let him get hurt. 

Simmons… Simmons was doing middle of the night feedings the first night. Sometimes he looked at Grif when he was holding Little D and Grif felt this weird _contentment_ settle over him like it hadn’t it years. And Simmons wasn’t terrible at this co-parenting thing. Even if he read so much stuff he freaked himself out twice a day thinking they were poisoning Little D by not feeding him organic. Simmons was shaking a little standing next to him, but Grif could tell he wanted the kid back as much as Grif did. 

And Grif wanted him. Who gave a shit if they all sucked at parenting? They all wanted him, and they would want him more than anyone else ever would. They were a fucking family. 

Grif snatched Little D back out of Wash’s arms. _“NO ONE IS BEING LITTLE D’S MOMMY!”_

“Retreat!” Sarge yelled, firing into the air. 

They all ran back for the Warthog. Grif went for the driver’s seat first and then nodded at Sarge and veered for the shotgun seat with Little D in his arms while Sarge took the driver’s side. They needed a car seat for this thing. Fuck. At least building another contraption would keep Sarge busy. 

Donut happily draped himself over the Highchair 3000 v2.5 and Lopez hopped on the back again, following after them. Donut gleefully hurled insults back over their shoulders as they rode the 300 feet back to their base. 

Maybe it would have made more sense to strap Little D in that thing, but Grif didn’t trust it. And maybe he didn’t really want to let go just yet. 

Simmons took his usual spot at the gunner and leaned over to check on Little D as Sarge peeled out. The baby blinked big eyes up at him and then immediately started screaming. 

“W-Why?” Simmons asked him, hurt. “You were fine with Wash!” 

Grif rolled his eyes. “You usually feed him, Simmons. He associates you with food and he’s starving. Where’s the bottle?” 

“Oh! Oh noooo, his schedule’s all off today!” Simmons handed down the bottle, muttering to himself about adjustments that wouldn’t throw tomorrow off. 

“They better not tell Armonia about him,” Grif said darkly, popping the bottle in the baby’s mouth, and looking him over. No marks on him. He seemed fine. And he was draining the bottle like a champ. 

“Huh? Why not?” 

“Do you have any idea what would happen if _Matthews_ got wind of this?” 

“What? Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad.” 

“Remember when he found out about my birthday, Simmons?” 

Simmons’ face tightened imperceptibly. “Yeah... Maybe we can keep this under wraps for a while.” 

“Another glorious victory for the Red Army!” Sarge crowed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little epilogue coming.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end. Thank you for all the support guys! There are more one-shots planned for this verse, but this arc is over.

The newest version of the highchair had gun turrets and a little steering wheel. 

“I don’t know how well he’ll be able to aim, Sarge,” Grif said with a yawn, sitting on his bunk with the baby. The kid had burped loudly and passed out on his shoulder after his bottle, but Grif kept lightly tapping him on the back anyway. He was gonna be a solid kid. Screw Tucker. 

“Will he actually be able to drive this thing?” Simmons asked. “What if he runs away again?” 

“Oh my _god_ , Simmons,” Grif said. “He didn’t run away. Wash picked him up off the ground. Stop projecting.” 

“Of course he can drive it!” Sarge laughed. “Little Dexter needs to start practicing as soon as possible. We’ll need a new driver for all our military operations when Grif dies a completely accidental death by shotgun!” 

“Thanks Sarge.” Grif said flatly. But he was pathetically warmed at the thought of this little blob driving a car. Or a kickass pelican. 

“Dexter should be taking a nap,” Simmons said after Sarge left them to tinker with the idea of a car seat. 

“Hm?” Grif yawned again, poking Little D’s chubby cheek. “He’s taking one right now.” 

“If you hold him while he’s sleeping, he’ll never sleep alone.” 

“Jeez Simmons, you have to ruin everything. He’s comfortable.” And Grif didn’t really want to put him down yet. Caboose was crazy enough to take him skydiving or Wash could have called the capital and gotten the baby taken away or something. Not that Chorus was in any condition to have a CPS system, but Grif had enough experience with outsiders trying to mess with other people’s families. “Besides, someone’ll just hold him while he’s sleeping then.” 

“Yeah, I guess. It’s just not what the books recommend unless you’re trying attachment parenting and there are conflicting studies on whether it’s actually healthy for a baby’s psyche.” Simmons ran a hand through the baby’s poof of hair and Little D snuffled and curled into Grif tighter. 

It was _really_ obvious Simmons wanted to hold him. He couldn’t just say it, he had to be all passive aggressive about it. Grif sighed and carefully handed his kid over, supporting his neck. 

It didn’t take Little D very long to re-settle and conk out again. Simmons looked down at him, eyes shining, and Grif didn't feel like teasing him for crying tonight. It was good to have the kid home. 

It only took a few minutes for Simmons’ eyes to droop. Simmons started slanting sideways and Grif let him lean against his shoulder. It was Grif’s opinion that everyone could use a nap after a panic, and Grif never had trouble falling asleep, but a warm sleeping baby was like Nyquil. This time Little D’s sleep magic was working on Simmons. His breathing got deep and even, with a slight wheezy whistle from his mouth-breathing. Fucking nerd. Grif made sure Simmons was completely passed out before stealing the baby back from his lax grip. 

Little D opened his eyes and slowly blinked up at him, until his eyes shut again. Grif leaned back against the wall with Simmons drooling on his shoulder and Little D drooling in his arms and promptly fell asleep. 

Hours later, Donut would startle them awake with another family photo he threatened to upload to Basebook, which would lead to Sarge ordering them into formation to take a full Red Team photo. 

Grif would be annoyed as hell, and Simmons would be fussing about composition, which would lead to Donut making cracks about positions, and Sarge would steal the baby so the kid would smile in the picture. Lopez was in charge of the camera and he would set up the timer function and get in. 

And Grif would hate it. Because the team sucked. His life was weird and he never wanted to be here. And he hated all of these people. And now they were raising a fucking kid together. 

But he made sure Simmons set it as Grif’s HUD background, because why the fuck not? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Grimmons with the baby](http://ashleystlawrence.tumblr.com/post/146774100166/this-commission-comes-from-a-taller-tale-their) by ashley st. lawrence


End file.
